


Sugar and Cyanide

by paperstorm



Series: Deleted Scenes [42]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tag for <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0987715/">'What Is And What Should Never Be', 2x20</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar and Cyanide

**Author's Note:**

> Contains dialogue from the episode What Is And What Should Never Be, it belongs to Eric Kripke and Raelle Tucker.
> 
> [](http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/10/dsb2.jpg/)

A magazine ad. That’s where Dean saw her, _that’s_ how his freakin’ Dreamscape’d brain came up with her. A god-damn magazine ad for beer. He’s never felt so completely idiotic in his life. How could he have been so stupid? Of course it wasn’t real. Why _would_ it be? Wishes don’t come true, not like that. Nothing good comes that easily, at least not in Dean’s world. He’s had to fight tooth and nail for every tiny shred of happiness he’s ever had in his life; something as big as the demon not tearing his family apart could never happen with no consequences. Even what he has with Sam, the thing that makes Dean the happiest out of anything, has never been anything close to easy. They’ve hurt each other and left each other and caused each other almost as much pain as they have pleasure. It’s _hard_ sometimes, this thing with Sam, and that’s the one thing in Dean’s life that’s _supposed_ to be easy. So Dean doesn’t know how he could have ever believed wishing Mom never died would be any different.

“That was the hospital,” Sam says, snapping his phone shut and settling down on the other bed. “The girl’s been stabilized, there’s a good chance she’s gonna pull through.”

“That’s good,” Dean answers, without much feeling and without looking up from the page where Carmen’s still staring back at him with unrecognizing eyes. Come to think of it, he doesn’t know what her name actually is. He has no idea why his brain would have called her Carmen.

Sam nods. “Yeah. How ‘bout you? You alright?”

Dean clears his throat, and he doesn’t even manage to convince himself when he says, “Yeah, I’m alright. You should’a seen it, Sam. Our lives. You were such a wussy.”

Sam laughs warmly. “So we didn’t get along then, huh?”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Nah.”

“Yeah. I thought it was supposed to – to be this perfect fantasy.”

“It wasn’t. It was just a wish.” Dean closes the magazine and sets it down on the bed beside him. “I wished for Mom to live. Mom never died, we never went hunting, and you and me just never , uh … y’know.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m glad we do,” Sam says softly. Dean glances over at him in surprise, and Sam’s face is scrunched up a little in sadness but Dean can tell he means what he’s saying. “And I’m glad you dug yourself out, Dean. Most people wouldn’t have the strength, they would’ve just stayed.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” Dean grumbles. He stands up and walks a few steps forward, turning back around to face Sam and leaning against the chest of drawers. “I gotta tell you though, man, you had Jess … Mom was gonna have grandkids …”

“Yeah, but Dean, it wasn’t real.”

“I know. But I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay so bad.” It makes Dean feel itchy underneath his skin to be this honest with anyone, even with Sam, but he forces himself to keep going because this time there is too much hurt and anger and misery to just keep it all inside. Even if it makes him a wuss like he said Sam was, he wants Sam to know how he’s feeling because he _needs_ Sam to make it better. “I mean, ever since Dad … all I – all I can think about is how much this job’s cost us. We’ve lost so much. We’ve … sacrificed so much.”

“People are alive because of you,” Sam insists quietly. “It’s worth it, Dean, it is. It’s not fair, and, y’know, it hurts like hell but it’s worth it.”

The problem is, Dean used to know that. He used to know he was making a difference; he used to believe with all his heart that, even though the job is hard, what he did mattered. Now he isn’t so sure anymore. Sometimes it seems like regardless of what he does, how many people he saves, how many monsters he puts down, there’s always more coming. It’s never enough, it’s never all of them, and it’s taken too much away from him already and it isn’t showing any signs of slowing down. Losing Dad was almost more than Dean could handle. It nearly destroyed him, and that nearly destroyed Sam, and Dean’s not sure they could do it again. But they’ll have to. It’s inevitable. Almost everyone they know is connected to the life, and people dying is part of the job. Next time it could be Bobby, or Ellen, or Jo, and Dean doesn’t know what he would do then.

The hopeless, overwhelming sadness fills him up from the inside out, so thick and black and gripping that suddenly he can’t breathe, and it must show on his face because Sam stands up and walks over to him, sliding his hands over Dean’s shoulders. Just that small amount of contact is enough to break Dean, to have him dissolving into tears he _loathes_ himself for but isn’t strong enough to hold back. Red hot shame burns through his veins like poison but he drops his head down onto Sam’s shoulder anyway, unable to stop himself, and Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s back and pulls him into a big bear-hug. Sam holds him close and rubs his back and whispers something to him that Dean’s heart understands even if his ears don’t, and Dean squeezes handfuls of the back of Sam’s shirt and just cries. He just lets it all out, because he isn’t anywhere near tough enough to keep it inside anymore. And Sam just lets him, just holds onto him and kisses his hair, and somewhere underneath the feeling like his world is ending, Dean remembers why he made the right choice, coming back to reality.

“Shh,” Sam murmurs, cupping the back of Dean’s skull in his palm. “It’s okay.”

It isn’t okay, none of it, but Dean can’t bring himself to say that out loud. Even opening his mouth to try has his lower lip trembling like he’s a little kid, so he doesn’t bother. He’s so fucking pathetic he’s making himself sick, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He pushes his face into Sam’s neck, inhaling his clean, familiar scent and letting it soothe him. Eventually he pulls back, chancing a watery glance up at Sam, and there are tears in his brother’s eyes too. Sam would have every right to make fun of Dean right now, call him a pussy and shove him away and leave him alone to wallow in how pitiful he is, but Sam doesn’t. Sam just leads Dean over to one of the beds, gently pushing him down onto it and then crawling in with him. He lies on his side, facing Dean, and worms his arms back around Dean’s body and pulls him in close again. He wipes the tears from Dean’s face with the pad of his thumb and kisses his forehead, letting his lips linger there longer than they need to but Dean drinks it in, lets it sew up all the places the last few days tore holes into.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers shakily.

Sam shushes him again. “Don’t be. S’what I’m here for, right?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not about this. I mean, about this too. This is fucking ridiculous. But that’s not what I meant.”

Sam pushes his hand underneath the hem of Dean’s shirt and rubs his warm palm in circles over Dean’s lower back. “It isn’t ridiculous. And what, then?”

“For dragging you back into this with me. I should’ve left you with Jessica. You would’ve been happier.” It makes Dean’s eyes fill with tears again to say that out loud. As long as he lives, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that. Sam was out, and Dean should have left him alone. He was selfish – he missed his brother more than he’d miss a vital organ and he wanted him back so badly that he convinced himself that was more important than Sam’s happiness.

“That’s stupid,” Sam says, quietly but firmly. He rests his mouth against Dean’s forehead so he can feel Sam’s lips move when he talks. “Don’t ever think that again, okay? None of that is your fault. The demon took her away from me, not you. And besides, this life, it finds a way to pull you back in, y’know? If you hadn’t needed help with Dad, eventually you’d have needed help with something else. And even if you hadn’t. No one stops being a hunter. Once you know what’s out there, you’re in it for good.”

Dean doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t know how to argue with him so he stays quiet. He tucks himself in just a little closer to his brother and tries really hard not to hate himself for it.

“I have this dream sometimes,” Sam murmurs. “It’s my wedding day, me and Jess … you’re my best man, and you’re invited but you’re gonna be late so we haf’ta start without you.”

“That sounds like me,” Dean says, smiling a little when Sam huffs and smacks him lightly on the arm.

“Right? Jerk.”

“Hey, you can’t be mad at me for something you _dreamed_ I did,” Dean protests, and Sam laughs. He doesn’t tell Sam how much it hurt when he called him a bitch in the Djinn’s world and Sam didn’t get it, didn’t say ‘jerk’ back.

“Fair enough.” Sam slides his head back on the pillow so he can see Dean’s face. “Anyway, I’m standing there at the altar, watching Jess walk down the aisle, and she looks … beautiful. And I love her so much. But then you walk in. You try to sneak in quietly, but I see you … and all of a sudden I start to get this panicky feeling, like … like suddenly I know I’m making a mistake. That’s when I wake up. It’s always the same, and it always makes me positive that it never would have worked out with Jess even if she was still alive. Because as much as I loved her, I didn’t belong with her. I belong with you.”

“You proposin’?” Dean jokes, to cover up the tightness in his chest at hearing Sam talk like that.

“You wish,” Sam returns, a smile carving dimples into his cheeks. “You’d look so pretty all done up in a white dress.”

“Asshole,” Dean grumbles, shoving Sam playfully and Sam laughs again.

“But really, though. I meant what I said the other day, okay? I’m in this life because I’m a hunter. I never had any choice in that. But I’m with you because I wanna be. So if Mom dying is what had to happen for you and me to figure out that we’re supposed to be together, then I guess I can’t regret it all that much.”

Dean sighs. “Shitty deal for her.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I just … you deserve better than this, Sammy. Better than _me_. You always have.”

Sam shakes his head, and reaches out to slide his fingertips over Dean’s still-damp cheek. “You’re wrong. There is nothing better than you. Not for me. And look, sometimes hunting blows. That’s just the way it is. But I got you out of it, so I don’t wish any of it hadn’t happened. Mom shouldn’t have had to die, but my worst nightmare is a world where you and me don’t get along. You are _everything_ to me, do you hear me? I love you, and I’d never want to live in a world where I didn’t get to love you.”

Dean’s gut reaction is to roll his eyes and tell Sam he’s being a chick, but he fights it. He fights it because, as much as he still isn’t happy with himself for it, Sam is the only thing that has a hope of erasing this complete mess of a hunt and making Dean feel whole again. Seeing Mom again really shook Dean right to his core. He doesn’t remember all that much about her, and the memories he has are faded and blurry, but to have her right there, in the flesh – real and alive and warm when he hugged her – was harder than Dean would have imagined it’d be. She’s always been a bit of an abstract idea in Dean’s mind; this phantom figure that plays along the edges of his memory and gives him a reason to keep hunting for the demon who killed her. But his life in that house in Lawrence, with a mom and a dad and a baby brother he loved more than anything, feels so far away from anything that actually exists. It feels like something that happened to someone else, like a scene from a movie Dean’s remembering and confusing with reality. And then, there she was, just as real as if she actually were, and Dean doesn’t know how to come back from something like that. It’s done more than shake him up, it’s crumbled his foundations to dust.

So he does his best to block out the voice in his head telling him to be a man about all this, and just lies there in Sam’s arms. Sam rubs slowly up and down Dean’s back, holding him close against his strong chest, and Dean closes his eyes and drinks in the comfort and the safety that has no right to come from his little brother’s presence but does anyway. It isn’t very often their roles are flipped like this, because Dean doesn’t let it happen, but it’s beyond his control tonight so he gives in.

He’s almost fallen asleep with his head in the crook of Sam’s neck when Sam shifts and jostles Dean’s sluggish body back to consciousness. He looks up, frowning, and Sam smiles at him apologetically.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “My arm’s going numb.”

“Oh.” Dean lifts his head up enough to let Sam tug his arm away. He expects Sam to get up, or at least change positions, but Sam doesn’t. He just looks at Dean, looks _through_ him, and Dean shivers a little at the intense look in his brother’s eyes, at the feeling of being stripped so bare.

“Do you … uh. Wanna go to sleep?” Sam asks quietly, and Dean shakes his head.

“Not yet.”

“What d’you feel like doin’?”

“I … um.” Dean trails off, but gives Sam a look that he hopes communicates what he’s asking for, and Sam grins and his cheeks redden just slightly.

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that.” This time Dean does roll his eyes, but it’s mostly in affection. “Dork.”

Sam’s smile widens. “Okay. Sorry. C’mere, then.”

“That’s the best line you got?”

“What, you wanna be wooed?” Sam asks, laughing and tugging at Dean’s arm.

“You don’t think I deserve to be wooed?” Dean raises an eyebrow at him, but lets Sam pull him in anyway. He rolls on top of his brother, propping himself up on his elbows and resting his forehead against Sam’s.

“I’ll buy you flowers next time. Scout’s honor,” Sam says, sliding his hands up Dean’s back and kissing him softly.

Dean huffs in pretend annoyance and kisses Sam back. Sam’s tongue is mellow and warm and moves languidly around Dean’s. Every time Sam kisses him like this, gentle but deep and thorough and so deliberately it’s like he’s doing a dissertation on it, Dean’s immediately transported back to that first time. Well, not the very first time. The very first time, Sam was drunk and scared and he laid one on Dean and then they both freaked out about it. But the first time they did this on purpose. Sam was so sweet and shy but so determined that it was what he wanted, even as Dean tried so hard to fight it. He didn’t try as hard as maybe he should have, but when Sam is underneath him like this, his lips slick against Dean’s and his body big and strong and moving in tandem with the way Dean rolls his hips down, Dean can’t regret giving in. Sometimes there’s still the obligatory _but we’re brothers, it’s wrong_ scratching at the back of Dean’s skull, but Sam’s right. It’s too good, them together like this. Too right, too much better than anything Dean’s ever had with anyone else, for Dean to have ever had a hope of resisting.

Because he’s an awesome little brother, Sam lets Dean control things for a while. He lets Dean grind into him and kiss him breathless and he just lies there and goes along with whatever Dean wants him to do. But then Sam nudges Dean over onto the mattress and rolls over on top of him, reversing their position from a minute ago. Dean would never complain about being covered from head to toe with Sammy like that, but he only lasts a few moments before he’s pushing back against Sam’s chest, trying to reclaim his role in the captain’s chair. Sam stops him, though.

“Let me,” he whispers, pressing barely-there kisses along Dean’s jawline.

“Let you what?” Dean asks, even though he knows the answer, and Sam says “Take care’a you,” just like Dean knew he would.

Dean doesn’t argue, because he doesn’t really want to. It isn’t always easy for him to let Sam lead. It’s the same as being in the Impala – it’s not that Sam doesn’t know _how_ to drive, it’s just that Dean’s more comfortable being the one behind the wheel. But, because Sam’s an even awesomer little brother than he was a second ago, he knows what Dean needs when Dean maybe doesn’t know it himself.

Sam pulls Dean’s clothes off, slowly and one article at a time like Dean used to do to him, when he helped a three or four year old Sammy get ready for bed. Then he strips himself, and when he lies back down on top of Dean, their skin fusing together with the light sheen of sweat that’s already dusting Sam’s chest, Dean moans at the sensation. Sam takes his time driving Dean crazy, kissing up the undersides of his arms, down his neck, over his collarbone, while his hands cup around Dean’s ribcage in a way that makes him feel ridiculously tiny like he only ever can with Sam. He squeezes his fingers around the head of Dean’s cock, stroking it with just enough pressure to have Dean’s head swimming. He has to get up again to get the lube from his bag, and Dean shivers when Sam’s warmth is taken away, even though it’s only for a moment. Sam kisses him like both their lives depend on it while he opens Dean up, and in a way they do. He moves so slowly, one finger at a time pressed into Dean’s body; so gently like he’s afraid Dean will break, and Dean doesn’t need him to be that careful but Sam would anyway even if Dean told him not to.

Dean doesn’t do this as often as Sam does, but he still likes it. Likes the full feeling as Sam’s fingers slide into him, likes the strange but pleasant intrusion, loves the way his skin catches fire when the tips of Sam’s fingers press into that spot deep inside. And he likes that they don’t have to talk about it. That he can just have this, just be a little bit broken and let Sam heal him with soft touches and kisses that mean everything, and that after it’s over Sam will just let it be what it was and when the sun comes up Dean can go back to being the big brother.

Sam rolls Dean over onto his side after he pulls his fingers out, sliding up behind Dean and pushing one arm underneath the crook of Dean’s neck. They almost never do it this way, Dean always likes to be able to see Sam’s eyes and he thinks Sam likes that too, but Sam can wrap his arms all the way around Dean from this position and Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t feel like crying over how good that feels. Sam pushes his cock into Dean’s lube-slicked hole just as slowly as his fingers, and Dean closes his eyes and inhales sharply at the sting of being stretched open, but it only lasts a second and then it melts into feeling so filled up and whole and _loved_ that it’s overwhelming.

“Sammy,” Dean hears himself sigh, reaching up over his own shoulder to pull Sam’s face down for a kiss. Sam swirls his tongue around Dean’s, his arms holding Dean so tight like he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. As if there’s a single place on the entire planet Dean would rather be right now.

It’s about the physical contact more than anything else, in moments like this. Maybe it’s because his mother died when he was so young, maybe it’s because Dad was always too busy hunting or drinking or teaching them to shoot beer cans off a fence to give Dean as many hugs as a little kid is supposed to need, but for whatever reason Dean’s always been starved for touch more than he’ll ever admit to anyone. Sam’s touch, more than anybody else’s. Sam’s big arms around him, Sam’s skin hot like a brand against Dean’s back, makes Dean feel at peace inside like nothing else can. It’s about sex too, Dean likes sex as much as the next guy, maybe even more, but that’s not _all_ it’s about. It’s more than just sex, like it always is with Sam but this time the difference seems even more pronounced. It isn’t just Sam filling Dean up from the inside, his strong hand stripping Dean’s cock, the happy little twinges every time he bumps against Dean’s prostate. He breaks Dean apart with every slow, meaningful thrust, and he holds all the shattered pieces together in his arms because Dean can’t hold himself together anymore. Dean burns up, like being plunged into boiling tar he can’t climb out of but in the best possible way.

When he feels the fluttering deep in his gut, Dean is too caught up in the sensations to know whether it’s been five minutes or an hour, but it still feels too soon. He thinks it will always feel too soon, because if he could rewrite all the rules so they didn’t need sleep or food or water to live, Dean would never stop doing this with Sam. He doesn’t fight it, though. He gives in, lets himself drown as white-hot pleasure crackles through his veins. He’s too lost in it to notice whether or not Sam comes too, but by the time Dean’s head has stopped spinning, Sam isn’t moving anymore so he assumes Sam did. Sam doesn’t let go of him, though. He keeps both arms locked tight around Dean’s chest like he’s afraid Dean will disappear if he doesn’t, and Dean reaches behind himself again and tangles his fingers in Sam’s soft, sweaty hair.

“I love you,” Sam barely whispers against the shell of Dean’s ear.

“I know,” Dean answers. He doesn’t need Sam to say it. He feels it, in every touch and every kiss and every time Sam rolls his eyes and tells Dean he’s an idiot. He never needs Sam to say it out loud to know for sure that it’s true, but Sam always says it anyway, and Dean won’t admit it, but he hopes Sam never stops.

Eventually, Sam pulls his softening cock slowly out of Dean, and Dean hisses at the twinge when the thick crown passes over his sensitive rim.

“Sorry,” Sam mutters.

“S’okay.” Dean blinks a few times, and then leans back enough to look up at Sam over his shoulder. Sam’s eyes are still dark and intense, but there’s a soft fondness in them too, and maybe something that Dean would recognize as love if it didn’t make his chest hurt to think about it too hard.

Sam smiles at him and kisses him lazily, and Dean gets lost in it for the few warm, blissful minutes until Sam pulls away. He rolls over onto his back and pulls Dean with him, tugging the quilt up over them as he does, and Dean manages to hardly be annoyed with himself at all as he settles against Sam’s side. Dean figures maybe, with everything they deal with day in and day out, he’s entitled to be emotional every now and then. And maybe Dad would say it makes him less of a man, but maybe Dad was wrong.

“Feeling any better?” Sam asks softly, trailing his fingers feather-light up Dean’s spine.

“Well, the sex helped,” Dean answers with a smile, and Sam laughs quietly.

“Good,” he replies, and Dean knows Sam sees through him enough to know what he really meant.

Dean tucks his head into Sam’s neck, kissing the spot just above his collarbone and then letting his eyes fall closed. “There was, uh. This moment. When I’d figured out what was going on and you guys were all trying to convince me to stay, when Mom said something to me.”

Sam closes his arms around Dean’s back again and rests his chin on the top of Dean’s head. “What did she say?”

“She said that even though that world wasn’t real, it was still better than anything I had. And that … I think that’s what made me realize I couldn’t stay there. Because she was wrong, Sammy. It would’ve been _easier_ , there. But not better. ‘Cause I … I didn’t have you. Not like this, anyway. And you’re right. It’s really sucky that Mom had to die, but it’s what happened and we can’t change it. And if she was still alive, you’d be halfway across the country from me right now instead of right here. And this is better. It doesn’t make any sense, but it is.”

“It makes sense to us,” Sam tells him, his voice gentle and understanding in a way that tears at Dean’s seams before he’s even managed to stitch them back up. “That’s all that matters.”

“You know what else made me fight it?”

“What?”

“You. I mean, not _you_ you, the dream-world you.”

“What did I do?”

“You wanted me to stay. You begged me to, and I just … that wasn’t you. You wouldn’t have said that, you would’a begged me to _leave_ , to come back here. To the real you, the real _us_.”

“You’re right. I would’ve. And I always will, okay? Doesn’t matter what happens, I’m always gonna be here to pull you back,” Sam promises.

Dean nods, his forehead brushing against Sam’s neck. He knows that isn’t really something Sam can actually promise, but for the moment he’s going to pretend it is. Dean doesn’t ever want to be away from Sam again. He doesn’t feel whole when Sam is too far away; like a piece of him is missing. He never has, not since the very first moment they met. Spending two days with a Sam who wasn’t Sam was such a stark reminder of that. He looked like Sam and he sounded like Sam but he wasn’t _Dean’s_ Sam. He wasn’t Sammy. So if he has to lie to himself a little in order to believe they can stay like this forever, Dean’s willing to do that. It’s worth it, to hold onto this feeling for just a little while longer.


End file.
